


Demanding Satisfaction

by freakylemurcat



Series: Two Good Mechs [9]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Apologies, Counter Sex, Cunnilingus, Exes, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Making Out, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-War, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Valve Fingering (Transformers), Valve Oral (Transformers), Valve Play (Transformers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:03:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21851125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakylemurcat/pseuds/freakylemurcat
Summary: It wasn't like he was surprised, for all Prowl was an intelligent, kind, hard working and selfless spark, he was also a hot tempered, stubborn aft who was very much of the opinion that the goal was the end all and be all, never mind the losses on the way.He was also a mech with more than a few exes, and Jazz was no longer wondering why.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl, previous Chromedome/Prowl
Series: Two Good Mechs [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1316021
Comments: 4
Kudos: 107





	Demanding Satisfaction

Jazz was irritated. He was trying very hard not to be, but there was no denying that he was. 

It wasn't like he was surprised, for all Prowl was an intelligent, kind, hard working and selfless spark, he was also a hot tempered stubborn aft who was very much of the opinion that the goal was the end all and be all, never mind the losses on the way. 

He was also a mech with more than a few exes, and Jazz was no longer wondering why. 

The argument between Prowl and Chromedome had apparently started as a chance encounter which had deteriorated in mild picky bickering, some left over edges neither of them had bothered to sand down over the vorns. Jazz had not been present but the reports from the multiple mecha that had been said that it had escalated severely. Both mecha had landed low blows, verbal thankfully, and parted with both of them in steaming bad moods. 

So Jazz was irritated for a variety of reasons he was trying to compartmentalise to cool his own temper. 

  1. That Prowl still rose to having arguments in public, even after all these vorn.
  2. That as a result of this fight, Blaster had messaged Jazz and told him reluctantly that hanging out would be a bit dicey for a while. Jazz understood, considering that Chromedome's current conjunx was part time resident in Blaster's chest cavity, and anyway they hadn’t chilled for a while cause Blaster was busy with his new music promoter business, but it was the principle of the thing.
  3. And his major sticking point at the present: that when Cheomdome had accused Prowl of staying with Jazz because of his 'tight valve', did Prowl really had to roar back 'that his valve wasn't that tight!’ 



It had almost certainly not been meant to sound quite as awful as it had, Jazz told himself, but Prowl had a superpowered tactical unit in that processor of his and obviously hadn't engaged a single byte of it on that reply. 

Especially not bellowed across a slagging plaza. 

Jazz knew he had a reputation - not as well deserved as the rumours had it - and his frametype didn't help as an entertainment model, but normally he was chill enough that it didn't bother him much. If the gossip went that he was flexible enough to frag a shuttle, he had just laughed and done nothing to disturb the stories. He found it amusing.  _ Had _ found it amusing. 

Right now, he wasn’t feeling even close to amused. 

That had been wartime, and there had been enough on his plate, never mind the plates of other people. His rep as a player hadn’t hindered his work, had gone some way to aide it in some cases, and if anyone took it too far it had been easy enough to calm them down with a blade to the throat.

If he had to pick a target to return to his previous ways, there were certainly two mecha at the top of his list. 

Although to be far, he was in Prowl's apartment, smelling of Prowl's polish, drinking Prowl's expensive highgrade that he had bought with credits he had borrowed from Prowl. So unless he was also in Prowl's will, it probably wasn’t in his best interests to shank his mate. However tempting it was. 

He knocked back the rest of his cube and poured a fresh batch, right up to the brim. 

On a normal day, when Prowl wasn’t apparently intent on embarrassing him to deactivation, Jazz would still be very much in bed at this time. He had only managed to crawl into the berth a few joors before Prowl had crept out to go to his work, and had been planning on a much longer recharge than he had ended up getting before the first message had landed in his inbox. He had sleepily brushed it off at first, but then further messages had flown in from other witnesses, or from friends who hadn’t been there but had heard what had happened. Cybertronian gossip mills worked fast - the video of the whole sorry event had been on the intranet within breems of the two participants storming in opposite directions. 

Jazz had watched it once and then taken himself straight to the cupboard where they kept the high grade. 

Sometime afterwards - two cubes down and thinking hard about the third - Prowl had messaged him, asking if there was anything they needed from the merchants. He had changed his plans, he had claimed, and was going to take the rest of the cycle off. 

Jazz had strongly considered requesting a partner with a better sense of self-preservation, but had not yet trusted his temper, so the message remained unanswered. 

Prowl’s entrance was heralded by the chirp of the door recognising his RFID and the hiss of the pneumatics. Jazz tucked himself further into the kitchen alcove, absently wondering if he could tuck himself out of sight he might be able to put off the impending fight they were going to have.

He was considering the possibility of crawling in to the cupboard space under the energon dispenser when Prowl rounded the dividing wall.

“You’re awake early,” said Prowl, optics zeroing in on the cube in his hand. “And drinking early as well.”

Jazz felt his lips thing with annoyance. “Yeah well. Had a message or two that woke me up. “

“Ah.” Prowl had the grace to start to look ashamed. "You heard about the argument." 

"Brilliant," said Jazz dryly. "How did ya guess?"

“Common sense,” said Prowl. “And the fact you’re depleting my high grade supplies well before noon.”

“So you got common sense now? Didn’t it apply when you were havin’ a screamin’ match with your ex on a set of public steps?” Jazz was well aware he was being petty.

“I can’t say my temper was under control at the time,” said Prowl, apologetically. “Chromedome has a unique way of getting under my armour. I am sorry, Jazz. I didn’t think it would have upset you so much.”

“Really?” said Jazz flatly. “So what, ya gonna tell him next time – the colour of my mesh, how many biolights I have? Ya wanna tell them all how far I can suck your spike down?” He knocked another slug of high grade back. “Shall I take a picture ya can send out as proof?”

“Jazz..” Prowl looked abashed. “That is a bit far…”

“Well, I didn’t think ya would be tellin’ him what ya did, but here we are.” He paused and added, “Ya know if had been a positive opinion I might not have minded half as much, but Prowl, come on – ‘not even that tight’?”

Prowl flushed magenta. “I fragged up. Jazz, I’m sorry. What I said was impolite and crude, and thoroughly incorrect,” he said, “And a gross misstep of the vocaliser. What I meant was that the state of your array had nothing to do with why we were in a relationship, and that it was none of Chromedome’s business.”

"Where was that silver tongue when ya were shoutin’ out the state of my valve to half of Iacon?" 

Prowl sighed. "I am sorry, Jazz." 

He said it so earnestly, so truthfully, doorwings drooped and optics soft. Jazz was a sucker, and he knew it. His righteous anger ebbed. 

"All right, yeah," he grumbled, still not quite ready to let go of his petty mood entirely. "It's all right. Just maybe keep your opinions on my undercarriage to yourself from now on." 

“Even the positive ones?” asked Prowl. 

Despite himself, Jazz huffed out a laugh. “Oh, so ya have those now, do ya?”

“Plenty,” said Prowl. He was inching closer, trying to be subtle about it and failing. Jazz watched him for a few moments, rolled his optics and knocked the rest of his cube back, shivering at the flood of energy scalding down into his tanks. He turned to place it in the sanitisation unit, giving his partner an open invitation to approach and slide a hand over his lower back. “I am sorry,” Prowl said again. 

“I know,” said Jazz, sighing. He could feel Prowl’s remorse trickling through his field, more open in the sanctity of their home than anywhere else - shame, embarrassment, guilt, self-recrimination all strong themes. The honesty of it soothed his bad mood more than anything. At least if Prowl was kicking himself, then Jazz didn’t have to do it for him. 

He turned around and clasped Prowl’s cheeks in his servos. “Next time ya think you’re gonna lose your rag like that, maybe count to ten?”

“I’m not sure ten would do it.”

“Ten thousand then,” said Jazz, “Or ten million. However many it takes so ya don’t trip over your own glossa again and I don’t have to take your dumbaft to school, got it?”

“I think I’m being threatened,” said Prowl. “If I am, then yes, I’ve got it.”

“Damn right.” Jazz released him. “So ya took the day off, huh? Whatcha gonna do?” 

Prowl leant in, bracing a hand on either side of Jazz’ hips on the countertop. His frame was still warm from his drive home, and it was difficult to not lean into him.

“Let me make it up to you?” he murmured, nuzzling forward against Jazz’ cheek. 

Jazz was a  _ sucker _ .

“Fine,“ he said. 

Prowl smiled and kissed him, soft and close-mouthed at first, slowly deepening into a long slow embrace. Prowl’s mouth tasted of the bitter high energy fuel he often drank at work, and his glossa pressed against Jazz’ own in an intimate advance. Prowl knew exactly how he liked it, and was certainly treating him this time.

A kiss like that was almost enough to encourage Jazz to forgive him totally, but Prowl didn’t seem satisfied yet. He scattered soft kisses to Jazz ‘ chin and jawline, tiny little nips of his sharp dentae to give a soft sting. He nuzzled down Jazz’ throat, finding his favourite places to nip and bite and suck, pressing a kiss to Jazz’ vocaliser when a groan finally escaped him at the attentions.

“Ya gonna kiss me into submission?” said Jazz, as Prowl slithered a kiss down the pulsing throb of his cabling.

“That was my plan,” he said, with a wry smile. “I thought I would show you exactly what my true opinion of your valve is.”

Well, Jazz’ audials perked up at that. “Oh yeah? How ya plannin’ that?”

“I was going to tempt you into the berthroom, lay you down and kiss all over your frame before I show you how much I love your valve.” His hands slid over Jazz’ aft in a familiar embrace, hooking one of his thighs up over his hip. It was a familiar position “But I can see I have a lot of work to do, so I might have to push forward a little with my plans.”

With a sharp move, he lifted Jazz clean off his feet, depositing him on the countertop and coaxing the other leg around his side. 

“Why’s the rumour that I’m the fast one?” Jazz wondered, cinching his legs tighter to pull Prowl as close as he could. “So what, ya gonna frag me in the kitchen? That’s your great new plan?”

“Not quite,” said Prowl, and bent his head, kissing down Jazz’ abdominal plates. Each kiss drifted lower and lower, until he was nosing around the seams of Jazz’ pelvic plates.

“Ah.”

“Open up and let me make my apologies,” said Prowl, but Jazz was still feeling obstinate. He’d make Prowl work for it. There Prowl hummed thoughtfully and set to work, hands playing around the sides of Jazz’ hips and thighs to trailing long strokes down his flanks, his mouth purring hot air over the his plating. He even managed to slither a warm, wet tongue into the gaps of his hip joints, moisture sizzling from Jazz’ rapidly heating frame.

“Shall I go to my knees and beg for you?” asked Prowl, the vibrations echoing through Jazz’ plating and shaking his protoform beneath. He slumped back against the wall behind him and bit his lip to control the next moan that threatened his composure. 

“Why don’t ya find out?” he gasped instead, and, dear Primus, the mech did. Fell to his knees so hard the armour chimed on the hard floor surface. Jazz’ thighs fell neatly over each shoulder pauldron, doorwings tapping at the outside of his knees as they rose to balance the weight.

A long broad stripe was licked right up the centre of his valve cover, and his self-control twanged like a tension wire. The panel transformed back, and he was exposed to Prowl’s greedy optics. 

“I am going to enjoy this,” he said, tone just about as lecherous as Jazz had ever heard it, pressing his face plates to the inside of Jazz’ thigh and licking his lips. As Jazz watched, he slowly sank sharp dentae into the armour of his thigh, leaving delicate little dents to mark his path, soothing the sting with a kiss afterwards. He met Jazz’ gaze and winked once before ducking his helm to his task.

Prowl’s glossa was broad and slow, lapping a long path up the centre of his valve lips, pressing hard over his anterior node and swirling slowly to approach it from every damn angle he could. His mouth was hot and wet on Jazz’ array, tongue an absolute menace as it trailed the biolights scattered over the rim of his valve, soft bites to the plumping meshes. 

“Slag,“ said Jazz, fighting the urge to clench his thighs closed at the teasing touches. “This ain’t makin’ me feel more kindly towards ya.”

Prowl smiled a knowing smile that he felt more than saw. For a mech that spent so much time in silence, he sure had a nimble tongue. Without much more play, he slipped it deep into Jazz’ valve, flexing and flickering to lap up the oily lubricants now starting to drip from his valve. It was raunchy and wet and filthy, and Jazz groaned and knocked his helm back against the wall as his hips hitched into the touch, pleasant and too light simultaneously.

That sweet tongue laved up, curling around his node, sucking gently. Jazz jerked and groaned, hips grinding up uncontrollably. He could feel Prowl’s smile on his protoform, a nasty little smug smirk. Jazz let his thighs squeeze over the mech’s shoulders in revenge, squashing his face tighter to his array.

It didn’t really change the mech’s smugness, and the tension over his node grew, a harder suction until he was squirming to get back instead.

“I guess I deserved that,” said Prowl, his voice rumbling over Jazz’ sensitised array. “Am I making ground?”

“Talking ain’t your strong point,” said Jazz, “Get your mouth back to the things it’s best at.”

Prowl’s brow ridge quirked, but he went as commanded. This time he licked a path directly between his meshes, lapping up the increasing volume of lubricant with a low moan. Jazz’ helm hit the back of the wall again; servos stroked up over his aft and the inner surface of his thighs. Prowl braced his mesh apart with two fingers, so he could really dive in , slipping in his glossa in to its max length.

“Ooh, that’s better,” groaned Jazz, parting his thighs a little further and crooking his hips up so Prowl could get as deep as possible.

A long digit slipped into his valve, moving easily in the pliable mesh. He sought out the subtle pleats and bumps of the sensor nodes, rubbing around each in a slow teasing circle, without directly touching a single one. It was the best sort of torment, and Jazz gripped the edge of the countertop and panted. The only direct touch was a soft stroke over his sensory plexus, the touch more of a tickle.

“Keep going,” he hissed.

Prowl response was muffled between his thighs, slipping a second digit in and then slithering his glossa in over the top of them as well to rub against his node. The pressure was exquisite, the pliable flex just enough to trigger his sensors.

“Prowler!” he yelped, “Dear Primus!”

The next stroke was directly over his nodes, fingers crooking and pressing and playing with his soft meshes, in time with the lap and lave of that broad tongue teasing the superficial centres. The bridge of an olfactory ridge bumped and ground against his throbbing anterior node, and Jazz nearly whimpered at the assault on his senses.

The last thing he needed was another long swipe over his anterior node, and his charge flashed out like a lightning strike.

“Oh frag me!” Distantly he could hear his heels clattering against Prowl’s shoulders, knew he should be more careful but couldn't bring himself to care. Especially not with Prowl's lips pursed against his anterior node like they were, nor when his glossa swept another long stripe between his valve lips, finishing with a sharp little flick over his node. “Primus!”

He rode his overload out against Prowl’s mouth, hips jerking and spasms cresting up through his valve like rough waves. It felt like a long time before he was able to plead for rest, and Prowl gave his node one last kiss before he knelt back. 

Prowl’s mouth was slick with Jazz’ lubricant, shimmering with oily iridescence. He looked smug again, and Jazz would have been tempted to kick him if he could have felt his legs. As it was he reached down and palmed the mech in the face gently, shoving him back onto the floor with an over-the-top huff of dismissal.

Prowl laughed and picked himself up, letting Jazz lean on him as he slipped off the countertop with less grace than he would have liked. His frame burnt with even more heat than when he had just arrived home, fresh off the roads, his field bright with lust. Jazz felt the squeeze of palms over his aft and laughed as well, the last of his bad mood burnt off by his overload. 

“Want to know the truth?” said Prowl, “Yours is the best damn valve I’ve ever had the delight of encountering , mostly because it’s attached to you. Name a public place, any place, and I’ll make the announcement with my bullhorn.”

He kissed Jazz again, the oily sweet taste of his own lubricant sharp on his glossa as he coaxed a last groan out of Jazz’ vocaliser.

“Ok, I get it,” said Jazz, licking his lips clean his own lubricants. Prowl’s optics followed the flicker of his tongue keenly, but Jazz was feeling selfish today. Let the mech grovel for it, if he wanted it that badly. “And what was the rest of your plan again?” he said.

“Was I so good you have forgotten already?”

“How much do you think I’ve forgiven ya?” Jazz asked, brushing the last streak from the corner of his thin mouth.

“Some,” said Prowl, nipping his thumb digit. “But not nearly enough just yet.”

“Got it in one, “ he said, looping his arms over Prowl’s shoulders ,”I got some great ideas though - something about layin’ me down and kissin’ me all over?”

**Author's Note:**

> Jazz still makes Prowl follow-through with his promise, and this is how Prowl ends up on the steps of the government offices, making an official decree that Jazz is The Best at Interface on the whole damn planet.


End file.
